It might just be me, but lately people are on edge. Whether it’s Easter, or the changing of the seasons, it seems every two minutes some individual tests me, a car cuts me off or another bum wants a quarter.

I’ve got the attack bum thing sorted out well enough. The answer is not today my friend. As far as the car cutting me off goes, please sir go ahead and take my lane. I’ll learn to live without my front bumper. Yes, you have somewhere more important to be. Honestly, you annoyed me in my rear view mirror, but your combover is even more irksome. Go already!

So what gives with the acrid taste in the air? The foul short tempers? I do say, what’s bothering everyone? The first person who can explain this to me in English and in 50 words or less gets a samhilliard.com t-shirt. Spike is finalizing the shirt design as I blog.

Lately I’ve taken to cursing Monday. Mostly because Monday feels like a hangover without the beer the night before. Sure, there was a time when I could drink through Monday, but that was back in college. That kind of extra effort was required in the syllabus. At my current incredibly advanced age (31), such attempts to recreate prior glories are foolhardy.

Mondays are better than Sundays, for the simple reason that on Sundays I’m hung over. But Monday’s are not better by much. What is Monday about anyway? To me it’s the wicked reminder that the weekend is over and you owe homage to The Man for the next five days or you’re going to lose that home that you can’t afford ( or barely afford depending on how good your credit is ).

Mondays lack the abandon of Saturday or excitement of Friday. Tuesday would be better, but it’s still awfully close to the black hole we’re stuck in right now. So that leaves Wednesday and Thursday to save the week. Wednesday has that cool nickname “hump day”. But it’s no fun for me because the wife works really late that night. This leaves Thursday. Well bring it on, say I! And leave the bottle of Advil open, just in case.

Ah, Valentine’s day. Once a year whether we like it or not, the price of red roses skyrockets, restaurants fill to capacity and diamond jewelers rejoice. Guys worldwide pop the question to the girl of their dreams with help of two months salary now in the form of a shiny stone. New this year, guys can also pop the question to the guy of their dreams, although this varies by locale.

I’ve long had a special relationship with the occasion, because of my birthday. As the tale goes, it was down to the wire, mom was exhausted after 27 hours of labor and threatened that if I didn’t abandon ship immediately, my name was Valentino. It was a narrow escape.

Now that I’m older, I think Valentine’s Day means taking time to let that person you’re with know that – hey person – you’re the one I want to be with.

So to the wife, who can’t read this because she’s home today and I’m on the computer writing – I choose you today.

To my old friend who’s popping the question, I’m in your corner, bro. I’m in the corner of your apartment watching your TV and borrowing a few CD’s. I figured you wouldn’t mind since you’re out tonight getting engaged in a fancy restaurant. Next time leave the door unlocked…

I know, I know. I promised the title today. Check back Thursday. I’m having a panic attack about my query letter, so like this is the blog for today.

See sam panic. See sam blog. See sam panic about blog.